


Mama, I Think I'm Going to Hell

by soccermom_max



Series: for a moment, the world came back to life [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Happy pride month, I tried ok, LGBT Themes, M/M, SIZE DOESNT MATTER, coming out fic, girl what, just bc its only 1k doesnt make it worth any less :(, no cap, point blank period, pride fic, referenced homophobia, sarah rogers is who howard wishes he could be, she said "oh me too", that math doesnt add up, when i came out to my mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soccermom_max/pseuds/soccermom_max
Summary: On his thirteenth birthday, when Sarah caught Steve and “Bucky” kissing chastely in the kitchen, she started praying that her son would have the sense to not be so bold with his love as he was with his fists.But he had Bucky, and she had good faith that he would keep her Steven in line when she couldn’t.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: for a moment, the world came back to life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802788
Comments: 5
Kudos: 105





	Mama, I Think I'm Going to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> every month is pride month when ur a baddie -max

She’d never known fear like she had when climbing aboard that boat all her lonesome, nothing but the clothes on her back and the infant in her arms to her name.

Finding work in the states was hard, finding a place she could take her son with her was harder. The only thing she had on her side was the tiny one bedroom Brooklyn apartment her late husband left her, and even that could be gone in a moments notice. Being a single, working, immigrant mother to an infant wasn’t easy, either. The looks she got at the store, the ugly tones, and the knowledge that she was going to miss so much of her sons life, spaces she couldn’t fill. She did her best not to let it eat at her.

It became apparent within the months after arriving that her little boy was fragile and sickly, and while she knew this would mean having to pick up extra shifts at the hospital she was a nurse at, she couldn’t bring herself to be upset about it when he grinned up at her with his innocent little smile, gaps still apparent where his teeth had yet to fully grow in.

It was ten months after she first set foot in America, when Steven was eleven months old, that the Barnes’s moved in next door from Indiana with a little boy toddling around and a newborn baby girl. Sarah’s English was admittedly lacking, and Winifred Barnes was happy to help while Rebecca ate and James and Steve played together on the floor. And for a while, everything was looking up.

Steve was seven years old when the priest read him his Last Rites for the first time.

It started as a cough, which, fine, okay, she could get him through this. This was far from his first cough. But then the asthma attacks started happening more often, and he was constantly shivering, and he could never breathe, and his chest was achy, and he wouldn’t eat, and—her boy had pneumonia. A bad case of pneumonia. And James, sweet child he was, sat diligently by his side while Sarah took extra shifts, and held Steve’s hand as James read to him.

Her boy should’ve died, but he didn’t. He preserved, and she would come to find out that this would be the pattern for the rest of their lives.

Steve got better, and his art picked back up, except now he was drawing James constantly. Every doodle was him watching James, a small smile gracing his face, and Sarah knew the already rocky path her boy was on was getting even rockier. The law was definitely not on young Steven’s side.

As he grew, so did his resentment and anger towards the world. She hated that he saw how the world treated people like her and him, and she hated that he felt he had to carry the weight of everyone's sins on their shoulders. "Justifiable anger," some would probably call it, but to her it just meant more people hurting her already fragile child. “For such a small boy,” Winifred would tease, “He sure does have a big personality.” On his thirteenth birthday, when Sarah caught Steve and “Bucky” kissing chastely in the kitchen, she started praying that her son would have the sense to not be so bold with his love as he was with his fists.

But he had Bucky, and she had good faith that he would keep her Steven in line when she couldn’t.

It overtook her so fast she almost didn’t notice. The cough came later, the first sign she had was when she dropped what little fat she had. She couldn’t keep anything down—and then the coughing fits started. Deep, rattling coughs that produced pink tinged phlegm. One day she was fine, and the next she’d be brought to her knees in the kitchen, gasping, unable to stand through the fits of breathlessness.

Steve stayed with the Barnes’s. Sarah didn’t want her baby boy, her pride and joy, to catch the virus. But that didn’t stop him from visiting during the few hours she was awake, and considering what little time she had left with him, she wasn’t about to complain too much.

She was awake, and had Steven sitting by her side. “Ma,“ he’d said, tears in his eyes. “I think I’m goin’ to hell.”

Sarah had a feeling she knew what this was about, but she was hopeful that he wouldn’t fall prey to the ill advised rules of too-powerful men playing God. “Why would you say that, darling?”

He sniffed, his breaths faltering, and she took a moment to rub his back as he brought himself back from the brink of an asthma attack. “I-“ he began, unwilling to meet her eyes, voice quiet, like if he whispered it wouldn’t be out in the open. “I think I’m in love with Bucky.”

“Oh, leanbh,” she sighed, switching to her native tongue for the pet name. “There’s no shame in that.”

“What?” He finally looked at her.

“You love who you love, Steve. What kind of mother would I be if I held you back from such a rare thing as you have?”

He nodded at her, frantic now, but not saying anything. Not crying, anymore, either, though she supposed that was a good thing. “You’re my son no matter what. No matter who you love or who you become. Never forget that.” She smiled at him, an attempt at being reassuring. “Now be a dear and go get your mother some water.” Talking was taming a roll on her throat. He nodded again and scurried off.

She passed in the night.

Steve was by her side, sobbing when he couldn’t hear her rattling breaths anymore. James, Winifred, and the local catholic priest right by his side.

It took a while, and a lot of grief and glory, but Sarah would get her wish. Steve would be okay, and she didn’t know it at the time, but one day he and Bucky would be able to love each other—or other men, women, whoever they wanted—publicly, without shame. Steve could only hope she’d be proud of how far he’d come.


End file.
